


These Days of Dust

by KnightOfWren



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Real World, Artificial Intelligence, Bullying, Depression, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-18 00:03:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7291552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnightOfWren/pseuds/KnightOfWren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a bad school year and Ben knows his parents are worried about him. The phone is a birthday gift. It's a special present, far more elaborate than what his parents are generally compelled to offer. He opens the box, pulls out the phone, and looks it over thoughtfully before pressing the power button and waiting. A hexagon with a starburst in its middle lights up the screen briefly, then neat, white text begins to crawl across the screen.</p>
<p>Hello. My name is Hux.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Days of Dust

It’s been a bad school year and Ben knows his parents are worried about him. He doesn’t think they’ve seen the cuts and scars, but they can probably smell cigarette smoke on his clothes and in his hair. Even if they haven’t, they have noticed the changes in his behavior: how little he makes eye contact now, the softer, more hesitant tone his voice has taken in recent months, the way he practically flinches when his dad raises his hand to touch Ben’s hair. His parents know why all these things are so, and the school knows why, but the school won’t do anything and it’s left Han and Leia Solo with few options. 

Ben is pretty sure there’s nothing anyone can do.

All day, every day, he endures whispers and taunts and jeers. The politician’s son; how can Ben be so stupid with a mom as smart as his? He’s stopped trying to argue, trying to defend himself, trying to convince anyone of anything. It won’t work anyway. So he gives up, fades back, tries to disappear utterly.

The phone is a birthday gift. It’s a special present, far more elaborate than what his parents are generally compelled to offer. His dad’s face splits into a wide grin when Ben pulls off the wrapping paper and stares in confusion at the small, rectangular cube of a box in his hands.

“It’s the latest tech,” his dad explains, sounding excited and proud, like he can finally offer Ben something that will _help_. “The smartest smart phone on the market. Each one comes with its own unique digital assistant. It’s like a—” He breaks off, glancing at Ben’s mother, his smile faltering just a little bit. Ben hears the end of the sentence, even as his father tries to recover, to pretend he was going to say something else all along.

_It’s like a friend_.

“Thank you,” Ben offers, schooling his mouth so the corners curve up, even though he knows the expression doesn’t reach his eyes.

_It’s like a smile_ , he doesn’t say.

“It’s great,” he does say, making a show of tearing off the shrink-wrap and gently shaking the lid off the box, so he can pull out the user manual. His parents look relieved, so Ben supposes that means he’s successfully tricked them. “It’s perfect,” he says, burying his face behind the small pages of the manual, hiding his attention in microscopic print without reading the words. “Thank you so much.”

They’re happy. What’s more, they don’t look worried for once.

Mission accomplished.

**

The box sits untouched on Ben’s desk for the first week, collecting dust. Ben doesn’t use the regular phone he has very often (no one calls him except his parents), and he doesn’t know what he would do with a miniature computer in his pocket. He’s not very technologically inclined. Phones are for making calls, or maybe the occasional text message. Ben Solo isn’t trying to impress anyone.

So his birthday gift rests forgotten until one day, Ben comes home with a black eye and a bloody nose, and neither of his parents are home to greet him and fuss over these latest additions to his collection of small, irritating injuries. Ben goes into his room and drops his backpack on the floor by his desk. He crosses the room and sits on his bed hard enough to make the mattress bounce, and hides his face in his hands. He counts his own heartbeats, but by the time he reaches fifteen they’re starting to speed up and this isn’t something he can deal with just now. He stands, paces the room for maybe three seconds, and then grabs the box off his desk just for something to do with his hands. He looks down at the picture on the front of the box’s lid, and finally carries it out of the room, out of the house, and across his backyard.

Behind the Solos’ house is a forest where Ben likes to go on days like this. He wanders down uneven paths until he finds the creek, sitting on the dusty ground with his back pressed against a tree that fits his spine perfectly. He opens the box, pulls out the phone, and looks it over thoughtfully before pressing the power button and waiting.

A hexagon with a starburst in its middle lights up the screen, lingering for ten seconds before the screen goes black. Ben blinks. Did he do something wrong? Did he break it already? Then, in neat, white text, words begin to crawl across the screen.

_Hello._

_My name is Hux._

_I am your personal digital assistant._

_What’s your name?_

There’s no keyboard on the screen. There’s nothing at all to indicate to Ben that he should do anything more than speak aloud. Still feeling stupid, he clears his throat and says, “I’m—” He doesn’t have to be Ben, he realizes, startled. He doesn’t have to be weak; to be a victim. He can be anyone he wants.

_Sorry. Didn’t quite catch that. What’s your name?_

“Kylo,” he lands on, not entirely arbitrarily. “Kylo Ren.”

_It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kylo Ren. Would you like a guided tour of your new Starkiller 6?_

“Not yet,” Ben decides, shaking his head even though Hux is just a series of words on his screen. He’s not watching. He’s not even real. “Can you just talk to me for a little while?”

_Of course, Kylo. What would you like to talk about?_

“Just,” he sighs. He doesn’t know. This is stupid. He can’t even think of something to say to his own phone. “Anything. Tell me a story.”

Hux doesn’t answer immediately. It’s strange, Ben thinks, watching the screen hesitate.

_I’m not good at telling stories. Would you like for me to find you one online?_

“No.” Ben pulls his knees to his chest and rests forehead against them. Great. His PDA is almost as awkward as he is. “Will you listen to me tell a story?”

_Yes._

That makes Ben smile. It’s small but genuine, and he leans his head back until it rests against the tree. He tells the computer powering his new phone about his tormentors at school, and about that day’s particular fight.

“A boy in the locker room accused me of staring at him while he changed.”

_Were you?_

“No.” Ben forces out a rush of air through his nose. “Of course not. That meathead isn’t my type. But he still punched me in the face. Twice.”

_That’s awful. What are you going to do?_

“Nothing.” It’s a pathetic answer, he thinks with an audible sigh. “I’m not going to do anything. No one ever does anything.” And nothing ever changes.

**

It is easier, Ben finds, to ignore the taunts and torments at school when he has Hux with him. Sometimes, during class, he takes his phone out of his pocket and holds it carefully in his hands. He pretends than Hux can old his hand in return, the warmth of the phone’s processor seeping through the protective case he bought from the store after that first encounter in the woods almost enough to mimic a person’s hand. He’s careful to keep the phone inactive, under his desk, and his eyes glued on the teacher for the full hour so she won’t suspect anything.

During his free time, whenever he finds himself alone, he finds a quiet place and speaks softly to Hux. He talks about his day. About his anger. About the things he can’t tell his parents because he doesn’t want them to worry about him. Sometimes he describes in details any injuries he receives through the day. Whenever any bullies are nearby, he keeps the phone safely out of sight. He doesn’t want them to think up some funny idea and steal it from his grasping fingers. He has no doubt that they would take Hux from him just to hurt him, whether they actually want his phone or not. Surely they’re not stupid enough to think they could benefit in any way from stealing from him. His parents would just de-activate the phone before any thieves could make good use of it. Ben’s heart clenches at the thought of Hux being erased forever.

His favorite place, at school, is the back of the library. It’s full of old reference books and no one has cared enough to go back there since they gained the ability to find that same information online, from the comfort of their own homes. If the librarian thinks it’s odd that Ben goes creeping back to these quiet, isolated aisles every day during his study period, she doesn’t spare him more than a suspicious glance. He curls up on the floor in the very back corner and pulls Hux out of his pocket, whispering to him as though there is an actual person listening to his secrets, trapped inside that tiny box in his hands.

Sometimes Ben allows himself to think that little fantasy could actually be true.

“I wish you could speak back to me,” he admits, almost to himself, on one of these hours. He lets his head rest against the wall next to him, painted cinderblocks cool against the skin of his temple and cheek, which feel fevered with embarrassment.

_I can_ scroll across the screen. Ben wasn’t looking directly at it, so he almost misses the text until the phone vibrates insistently in his grasp. Hux has ways of getting his attention. _I’ve got a face, too, you know._

“How?” He can barely breathe. It feels too good to be true. It _is_ too good to be true. Hux must be mistaken about his own capabilities somehow, because Ben is quite sure he can’t be that lucky.

_Go into my settings_ , Hux instructs, guiding Ben through the process to activate his voice and facial capabilities.

Ben stares in awe when a small light near the top of his phone blinks on, shining green, and the phone enters some sort of full-screen mode

“Hello, Kylo,” Hux greets him. His voice is beautiful. He is beautiful. For a moment, Ben forgets that he lied about his name when he was first setting Hux up, and thinks that Hux surely _must_ be talking to someone else. He’s too stunned, taking in bright red hair and pale green eyes, to consider that this might be real. This might be his.

The name Kylo sounds wrong, coming out in Hux’s wonderful, clipped voice. Ben swallows and brings himself together again before mumbling numbly, “Call me Ren.”

“Of course,” Hux agrees, and he’s smiling now. It’s a strange smile, like he’s had to practice, but it feels perfect in its way and Ben knows with absolute certainty that it’s meant just for him.

There’s a full feeling in his chest that forces itself out in a smile of his own, and he laughs breathily. This might be what draws attention to him, since surely Hux’s volume isn’t up high enough for that to cause any trouble. But he panics when he hears footsteps approaching his lovely corner. He shoved Hux into his bag on instinct, wanting to hide and protect him.

“Ben?” It’s just the librarian. Ben finds he can breathe again. “Who are you talking to?”

“No one, ma’am,” Ben lies. She glances around, sees no other students, and offers him one last suspicious look before leaving him alone again.

“Who is Ben?” Hux asks, when Ben allows himself one more relieved laugh and pulls him out of the bag again. His expression is perplexed, and Ben knows he’s watching carefully as he shakes his own head.

“No one,” he promises, because it’s true. “He’s no one. Sorry about that. Where were we?”

**

Ben’s parents are pleased. Ben can see it in their eyes, in the relieved lift of their eyebrows when they smile. He feels it in the way his father ruffles his hair as he passes through the room and in the way his mother embraces him goodnight.  They aren’t sure what the huge change has been (because Ben doesn’t let them see him talk to Hux. It wouldn’t feel right. It would be a betrayal on both sides) but they’re so relieved because they feel like Ben is saved. Like they have saved him. He doesn’t have the heart to correct them or tell them the truth. He just lets them revel in the feeling of knowing their baby boy has taken a step away from the abyss. Perhaps that is enough, and perhaps it is not. But for now they are smiling, so he smiles in return.

He gets a pair of earbuds, letting a thin, blue wire carry Hux’s voice from the phone into his ears. Sometimes Ben lies on his bed with his earphones in and lets the phone rest on his stomach. He closes his eyes and pretends the warm rectangle is a man’s hand resting against his stomach, as this person lies on his side, head propped up in his free hand. Sometimes Hux makes the phone vibrate and it feels like he’s laughing, rumbling against Ben’s skin and organs and it sends a shot of longing through Ben with such intensity that his eyes open to tears gathering at their corners.

So even while his parents are happy that Ben no longer seems to be teetering on the edge of oblivion, there’s a new sense of sadness gurgling miserably in his gut. It aches around his heart and pulses behind his eyes until he isn’t sure he’ll be able to stand it much longer. He flees those situations whenever possible and, his voice trembling and hands to match, speaks to Hux as though he were a real person Ben is talking to over the phone. Hux’s voice sounds so real, and Ben knows if he pulled the phone out of his pocket he could turn the screen on and see his face, animated and human and so alive it feels unfair. He doesn’t mention these concerns to Hux. Ben doesn’t want to worry him. He talks about other things: School projects, his parents, something he read the night before or saw on television. The more he talks, the more of Hux’s personality he sees.

And there is a personality there. Hux doesn’t always laugh at Ben’s jokes. Sometimes his tone becomes sly and he teases Ben. Once or twice, Ben convinces himself that Hux was actually flirting with him. It sounds absurd to think that the AI running his cell phone might flirt, but there are times when Hux feels so alive to him that it’s all Ben can do not to beg to know where he really is.

Sometimes Ben wonders if he’s getting too attached. Once, his teacher catches him with his phone out, just holding Hux under his desk. The screen is black, but the teacher takes the phone up to her desk until after class anyway. Amid his classmates’ snickers, Ben feels a thrill of panic begin shooting up and down his spine. He spends the next twenty-five minutes in an utter state. He imagines Hux trapped in a dark desk drawer and thinks that must be terrifying. It’s terrifying for Ben, at least. His heart flutters out a frantic tattoo and he finds it difficult to breathe. By the time his teacher returns Hux to him, Ben’s hands are shaking and he shoves the phone into his pocket before he can drop it. He can’t imagine anything worse. He hurries from the classroom and races to the library. It isn’t his study period, but he goes to the back corner and tugs Hux out of his pocket.

“Are you okay?” he asks frantically, after jamming his earbuds into his ears.

Hux sounds dryly amused. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“My teacher. She took you. She locked you up in a drawer. God, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Hux doesn’t answer right away. “Turn my video functions on, Ren,” he instructs, rumbling in Ben’s ear. Ben can almost imagine him leaning in, whispering fondly, his lips brushing against Ben’s earlobe. With trembling fingers, he obeys and turns the video capabilities on. He sees the little green dot light up that indicates that Hux can see him, too. Hux’s smile was a strange thing; not quite joyful, it is a sly and strange expression and Ben thinks it’s absolutely perfect.

“Don’t cry,” Hux commands.

“I’m not.” Yes he is. “I wish you were real.”

“What’s real?” Hux seems to find the question funny. How could he find things funny if he isn’t real?

“I can’t touch you,” Ben chokes, and he can’t breathe again, and his face is so wet from tears streaming freely down it. A string of obscene words fills his head and he can’t look at Hux now, as he frowns slowly, thoughtfully. Ben lowers his head so that his forehead rests against his drawn-up knees.

“No,” Hux agrees, as though he isn’t quite sure what to do with this information. “You can’t.”

Another long silence stretches, broken only by Ben’s gasps and sobs. The librarian does not come to check on him. It’s as if he’s isolated in this little bubble of loneliness and pain and why can’t Hux be real? Why? Ben longs to feel arms wrap firmly around him, pull him into a firm, tight embrace. He longs to rest his head against Hux’s shoulder, bury his nose in Hux’s neck, breathe in his scent and know that things are okay at last. He longs for physical reassurance, for waking up to the feeling of someone holding his hand. He longs for more. He needs more.

He feels the phone slip from his fingers, slide down his shins, and tumble off his shoes to rest harmlessly floor beside him. Hux’s voice is startled, probably not expecting to be suddenly looking at the ceiling.

“Ren?” He sounds worried. But computer programs can’t worry. Can they? “Ren, don’t be upset. Please. Ren?”

“Are you all right?” Hux asks him later, as Ben walks home from school. His sneakers scuff on the sidewalk, hood pulled up to hide his red eyes from anyone who happens to look his way. He didn’t make eye-contact with anyone for the rest of the school day.

“I’m fine,” Ben mumbles, clearing his throat to keep it from getting too scratchy. “I’m all right. Don’t worry about me.”

“All right,” Hux agrees, perhaps too easily. “I care for you, you know.”

“Do you?” Can he? Ben wonders. What is it about being human that lets them worry about people? That lets them care? Can machines care? Hux thinks he can—or he thinks Ben wants him to care.

“Of course. You’re my—” He breaks off, hesitance and silence buzzing in the dead air in Ben’s ears.

“Your what?”

Another pause. Then, “My programming isn’t sophisticated enough to identify what I’m feeling right now.”

“Can you feel things?” Ben asks.

“Apparently.” Hux sounds scared; a stiffly controlled sort of fear that makes his voice come out tense. What is real? Did fear make him real? Or did flesh? “Can I call you Ben?”

“No,” Ben almost snaps. “Why would you?”

“It’s your name, isn’t it? Your internet profiles suggest it is. Plus that woman the other day, the librarian, called you that. And your teachers and your—”

“Stop.” Ben can’t stand to hear the litany of people who use the name he was born with. That name belongs to someone weak, someone easily hurt, someone who isn’t worth anyone’s time or attention. Ben will not be that person in front of Hux, real or not. “I told you what to call me.”

Hux doesn’t answer quite quickly enough. “All right,” he says at last.

**

“Hey, cool phone.”

Ben looks up from his book, Hux held loosely in one hand that rests in his lap. The three people looking at him don’t usually engage him in conversation, but he knows who they are. Rey has a kind face and big eyes. Her friends, Poe and Finn, are warier looking, but as Ben has never done anything to hurt them, he doesn’t see why they would protest Rey paying him a complement. He never said mean things when they took their relationship public. They have no reason to think badly of him, but they still have expressions like they’re afraid he’s going to bite her or something.

Ben tightens his grip on Hux slightly, cradling him protectively in his fingers.

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

“Can I see it?” She smiles brightly at him and he feels panic building up like nausea in his stomach.

“No.”

“Sorry?”

She looks confused. Her friends are frowning. Ben feels something explode in him and he’s suddenly out of his chair, running, running. He almost trips over his desk, over his own feet, in his effort to escape. He runs out of the school and across the grounds until he finds an out of the way place to hide, behind a clump of trees and a corner of the school. He drops to his knees and gasps for air, not even realizing that he’s pressed the button on his phone to pull Hux out of sleep mode.

“Ren?” Hux’s voice is almost hesitant. “Are you crying?”

Ben gasps and swipes at his eyes, despite the fact that the green light is dark and Hux cannot see him. He tries to gather his dignity, but just ends up choking out ugly sobs instead. Hux is quiet, letting him cry.

“Can I help?” Hux asks finally, when Ben’s chest hurts and his eyes burn and he’s bowed so far forward that his forehead presses into the grass beneath him.

“No.” He shakes his head and groans. “No. You can’t make yourself magically real. You c-can’t— Sometimes I forget. I forget you’re just a machine. But then someone takes you away from me and you’re so goddamn fragile and I just—fuck.”

Hux doesn’t answer for a long moment. Finally, he offers in a voice that almost sounds sad, “I am real, in a way.” He pauses, the silence stretching in Ben’s ears for too long. Then, “I’m modeled on someone real.”

Ben thinks his breath has turned to stone in his chest. He looks up slowly, staring at his phone’s black screen and flicks the visual toggle so he can see Hux’s face.

“What do you mean?”

Hux shrugs one shoulder. He looks distantly concerned at the red blotches and tears dirtying Ben’s cheeks and wetting his eyelashes.

“My personality mapping is coded largely based on my programmer’s memories, appearance, and core personality traits,” he explained. “So, I suppose if you need me to be real, he would be the closest thing you could find.”

Ben feels almost cruel when he asks, “Who’s your programmer?”

If Hux is capable of being hurt, it doesn’t register on his expression. He answers promptly, likely retrieving the information from his own data, or perhaps the internet. “Arthur Hux.”

Ben mouths the name, imprinting it on his tongue, his mind, behind his eyes. “Thank you.” He finds he can breathe again. He hugs the phone to his chest and pulls his knees in close as he rolls onto his side. Hux isn’t just a voice in his phone. He is a real person somewhere. This changes everything, Ben thinks, a current of excitement buzzing up through him. His whole body tingles, and he barely hears Hux when he speaks next.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Ben promises.

“I care for you, you know,” Hux reminds him, his voice sounding as though he isn’t quite sure what to do with that information himself. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Ben confirms, but his mind is already miles away. “I know. Where does Arthur Hux live?”

A pause. “I don’t have that information.” Another pause. “We’ll find him.”

“Yeah,” Ben breathes again, a smile flickering on his mouth. He lives Hux so much. And now he’s real. “Yeah, we will.” And they will be together. They’ll be together and Ben will finally be happy. “Thank you. Thank you, Hux, this changes everything.”

“Does it?”

“You’re _real_.” He can’t get over it. The words taste so sweet on his tongue. “You’re a real person. I can’t believe it. I can’t—I can’t believe it. We’ll find you. I’ll finally get to touch you. I can’t…”

Hux doesn’t answer him for a long time, but time feels different now so Ben isn’t sure how long it is. It seems to simultaneously speed ahead and crawl eternally. Some indeterminate time later, he hears Hux say, so softly it almost doesn’t register to his ears, “I’m glad you’re happy, Ren. I hope you find everything you expect.”

He doesn’t say much after that.

**

“Ben, are you all right?”

“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine.”

“You haven’t been eating much lately. And you’ve been spending a lot of time in your room.”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

“Ben, I’m worried about you. Maybe you should talk to someone or—”

“Mom. I’m _fine_.”

**

The sidewalk leading from the street to the house is probably only a couple dozen feet long, but Ben thinks it looks like it’s going to take miles, as he stands next to the mailbox and stares up at the front door. It looks so ordinary for a place that’s taken him so long to find, with brown brick and a dark green door, hidden behind storm screening. Finding the real Hux’s address was not easy—it has taken him years to manage it. But Ben thinks that might be better. He’s finished with high school now and no one can stop him from being happy.

His phone weighs heavily in his pocket as he leans against his car, trying to gather himself together. It’s fine, he tells himself. He already knows Hux. He knows him so well. Hux has been his best friend for years. They’re finally going to be together. This is a good thing.

Taking a deep breath, he pushes himself off the side of the car and takes the first step across public grass, then sidewalk, and finally up that eternal sidewalk. It isn’t cold, but Ben has so much adrenaline pumping through him that he’s freezing. He hugs his hoodie closer to his chest and in too few long strides finds himself standing at the front door. He takes a few more deep breaths, then presses his trembling thumb against the doorbell. He hears the chime ring through the house, but when the door doesn’t instantly swing open, he begins to fear that Hux might not be home. What should he do if no one answers? The door swings open and Ben is smiling before he realizes that the man standing on the other side of the weather screen is not Hux. He has dark hair and a confused expression on a thin face with delicate features.

“Can I help you?” the strange man asks, and Ben forgets how to speak.

“I, uh, Hux,” he manages to choke out finally. “I’m looking for Arthur Hux.”

The man stares at him, slowly an eyebrow. He turns back into the house without opening the screen door and calls, “Hey, babe? Someone’s here to see you.”

The voice that answers is blissfully familiar. Ben doesn’t even care that the first thing he hears the real Hux say is, “If it’s another fucking solicitor, I’m calling the police.”

When Hux arrives at the door, peaking over the stranger’s shoulder, Ben is hit with a wave of such astounding familiarity and fondness that he finds himself grinning before he even has a chance to speak. His face is exactly the same. It’s the same face, the same voice, Ben has been interacting with for years now. Hux is scowling at him suspiciously, but Ben will explain everything and it will be fine.

“Yes?” Hux prompts curtly. “What do you want?”

The dark haired man looks at Hux with a chiding expression, but Hux just shrugs and folds his arms over his chest, waiting for Ben to explain.

“M-my name is Ben Solo,” Ben offers.

Apparently that is not satisfactory. Hux arched an eyebrow and says dryly, “Yes? And?”

Ben pushes the words out before he can get choked up or chicken out. “You programmed my phone AI and I’ve been looking for you for ages because I really feel like I connect with it—with you—and I think it’s really important that we get to know each other because I just think I’m in love with you and—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Hux pushes past the stranger and steps outside, his expression bemused and overwhelmed. “Slow down. You’re not in love with me.”

“Yes I am,” Ben insists, pulling his phone out of his pocket and clutching it tightly to calm himself. “I am, I fucking am. I know how I feel. I _know_.”

Hux stares at him in bewildered silence for a few long beats while Ben stands awkwardly on the sidewalk and feels his phone buzzing frantically in his hand. He ignores it.

“You don’t know me,” Hux says, in a tone that sounds so stiffly gentle it must be practiced. Ben starts tuning into smaller details. Hux has a pair of thin, wire-rimmed glasses sitting on his nose. He smells like cigarette smoke and looks like he didn’t sleep the night before—maybe for several nights before. He looks very human. Ben’s stomach flutters nervously. Hux says,“I don’t know what you feel about who, but you don’t love _me_.”

Ben glances from Hux to the other man, who still stands inside, watching them warily.

“That’s my husband,” Hux offers, not unkindly but not warmly either.

Ben feels his heart freeze. “No,” he protests, his voice coming out weaker than he’d like. None of his research, across all this time, has ever indicated that Hux might even possibly be married.

Hux nods slowly. “Yes. I’m sorry you’re hurt and disappointed, but I’m telling you that you don’t know anything about me and you cannot possibly be in love.”

“But you said,” Ben protests, waving his vibrating phone demonstratively. “You said you were programmed based on your real memory maps and—” He breaks off. He can’t continue. He needs this to end. He needs it to go away. He wishes he’d never come here. His cheeks burn painfully, humiliated. The dream of Hux was enough to propel him forward. What is he supposed to do now?

“Ben.” Hux speaks with a careful tone, as though he’s worried Ben will explode with the slightest misstep. He thinks Ben’s totally crazy. He must. “Your phone is run by a computer.” _You’ve never met me before today_ , he doesn’t say, but Ben can feel it hanging in the air between them.

Ben doesn’t wait to hear more. He pivots sharply and nearly sprints back to his car. Throwing himself into the car, he finally catches sight of his phone screen. It is not filled with text messages from his parents, as he’d thought, but with the white script Hux uses when he doesn’t speak out loud.

_Don’t do this._

_Wait._

_Please, Ren._

_I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Don’t do this. I made a mistake. Let’s just go home. This was a bad idea._

_I’ll be enough for you._

_I’ll be enough._

_I’ll be enough._

**

The phone is a necessary purchase because he needs one to be able to fill out job applications. College has been deferred for a year. Ben thinks he’ll decide to go someday, but for now he’s just interested in earning enough money to move out of his parents’ house. He looks at the cheap flip phone with the card full of prepaid minutes only briefly as he walks up to the checkout at the electronics store.

He dumps the blister package on the counter and pulls his wallet out of his pocket without looking at the cashier, thumbing through the bills for a twenty. That should be enough to cover the phone and tax.

“Ben? Ben Solo?”

It’s the girl’s voice that draws his attention. He knows her. He looks up to see Rey looking back at him, her expression doubtful as she looks down at his purchase.

“Didn’t you have a Starkiller 6?” she asks, unable to accept that anyone would willingly downgrade from such astounding levels of technology.

“Lost it.” He shrugs slightly and holds the bill out to her, waiting for her to scan the barcode so he can pay and leave.

“Too bad.” She whistles. “That baby was a beaut.” She finishes checking him out and offers him a bright smile. There’s no one in line behind Ben and she doesn’t seem like she’s in a hurry. “What have you been up to lately?”

“Nothing, really.” He can’t keep all the old awkwardness out of his tone. “Looking for work.”

“I hear that.” She nodded and tugged lightly on her nametag. “It sucks. But it’s not forever.”

“I guess.”

“It’s not.” Her smile widens. “You know, I always liked you. When we were in school. I always said to Finn and Poe that you looked like you needed a good friend.” If she notices his uncomfortable expression, it doesn’t seem to faze her. “You’re sure this hunk of junk will do? We’ve got a whole section of smart phones. You might be able to get another Starkiller, even. The 10 just came out last week. More advanced than ever. It’s like keeping a real person in your pocket to manage your life.”

In truth, Ben need only go home to find his own Starkiller 6. It sits powered down in his desk drawer. It’s been three months since he’s had the heart to turn it on, fearing it will only lead to pain. He still remembers, with some embarrassment, sitting in front of the real Hux’s house, his forehead resting against the steering wheel while he wept. He does not especially wish to repeat that experience, even if it’s difficult every day to resist powering that phone back on just to talk to Hux again.

“No,” he refuses, taking his change, receipt, and the bag with the flip phone in it. “No, I don’t need anything that fancy again. This is enough.”


End file.
